Their Finest Hour
by spellbound130
Summary: After two years of fighting batarian terrorist cells on the fringes of the Terminus Systems, the Alliance finally makes a stand. This is my interpretation of the Siege of Torfan. Rated M for graphic violence and language.
1. Operation Bluepoint

**Disclaimer: **All characters owned by Bioware

**A/N: **This is my interpretation of the Siege of Torfan. I've rewritten it a couple times, and taken a lot of creative liberty with it. I should note that SPARTANs are not a reference to Halo; it was an acronym that actually worked for what they do.

* * *

><p><strong>21 December 2177 – Arcturus Station – Office of the Systems Alliance Secretary of Defense – 1300 GST<strong>

The room was quiet. Tension filtered through the crowd of military brass, intelligence analysts, and political figures, as they stood casting glances at one another. After what seemed like an eternity, the low beeping of the telecom pierced the silence. A woman in a gray suit stepped forward, flipping the switch on the comm.

"Operation Bluepoint is a go," the voice on the other end spoke.

The woman nodded. "Tom," she turned to one of the intelligence analysts.

"As you are all aware," the analyst began. "We've been engaged in unconventional warfare with batarian forces in the Terminus Systems for two years. It's no man's land as far as the Council is concerned, so the rules of war don't apply."

He paused.

"As we saw firsthand during the Skyllian Blitz."

The memory of the battle on the alluring, tropical planet Elysium was still fresh in everyone's mind. The Alliance had won, but they'd taken heavy losses.

"We've identified an outpost where a high-ranking member of the Syndicate is currently running slaver ops out of. His name is Kasko," the analyst continued. "Torfan is a small moon in the Corthion System, Titan Nebula. Current intelligence places his numbers at around four to five thousand."

"Hostage potential is unknown, but Kasko is a known slaver," another analyst, this one in Alliance dress blues, continued the briefing. "So orbital bombardment is out. We're still waiting on intelligence on the planet specifics from science division, but it's looking like getting marines on the ground is going to be the way to go about this."

"Deployment?" Another officer asked. This one carried himself as a soldier hardened by years of battle rather than an analyst accustomed to the sterile halls of starships and offices.

"Two SPARTAN battalions should get the job done. We need to get in quick and quiet. If they think something's up, they might kill any hostages on site."

"You sure?"

"Paratroopers like being outnumbered. Keeps the game fun for 'em."

"And the best way to deploy a thousand of them on a glorified asteroid that's five mass relay jumps away from any naval station?"

The soldier turned to a woman in dress blues with pure white hair pulled back in a tight bun. "If you could put together a strike team of frigates for deployment and a task force for logistics and contingency..."

"Absolutely," the woman's tone was direct. "Hackett, I'll need a complete resource list for the Fifth Fleet. I'll pull the _Puncak Jaya _for transporting the marines."

"Hell of a long way to fly a dreadnought," someone interjected.

"It'll be the best way to run a surface spec-op from the air. We need to have reliable comm channels, and having a dreadnought will ensure that," the woman replied. "We'll also put three or four cruisers on standby, in case things get ugly."

* * *

><p><strong>24 December 2177 – Systems Alliance Base 06A – Lt. Shepard's Quarters – 1928 GST<strong>

The soldier sat alone in the darkness. She could hear the distant sound of Christmas carolers in the streets and the faint hum of the heater. Glancing out the window, snow was falling, illuminated by the blue streetlights. Her eyes shifted back to the glass in her hand. The amber liquid splashed over the clear, perfect ice cubes.

She took a drink, shivering briefly as the whiskey warmed her throat. It had been nearly a year. Touching her hand to her face, she ran her fingers gently over the scar on her left cheek. A framed photo sat on her desk. A squadron of fifty soldiers stood, posed in tactical armor, the majestic purple sky illuminated by the blue orb resting on the horizon. "The Ill-Fated 970th HTC Squadron," as they came to be known by the media in the weeks that followed the massacre.

_Fuck. What the hell do any of them know?_ She took another drink. _All I did was survive. Everyone else died and what does the Alliance do? Slap "N7" on my chest and ship me off to OCS. The brass sure has funny criteria for picking leaders._

She opened the holo-card from one of the few people she trusted who was still alive – Service Chief Sergio DeMarza – her brother in arms who'd been with her through basic training, tactical operations and warfare/infiltration school, and N-School. The man who'd fought beside her on the shores of Elysium. And then, they'd parted ways. He'd been ordered to the 1st Special Forces Group in the aftermath of the Skyllian Blitz, and she assigned to the 970th. In retrospect, it was a good thing. _If he'd been on Akuze, he'd probably be dead too._

Still, seeing his face made her smile. The dim glow of the orange screen illuminated the room.

"_Hey Shepard. Merry Christmas. So you get to spend the holidays on Earth, huh?_

_It's been a hell of a year, you know? Things are not going too great here. Our platoon commander was killed last week taking down a band of krogan pirates working for the Syndicate. It was pretty gruesome, but I guess that's the life we live as marines, huh?_

_Get to meet the new ell-tee tomorrow. Some combat engineering genius whose daddy's a captain and pulled some strings to get his ass into OCS. As you can tell, I'm thrilled."_

DeMarza's golden-brown eyes widened with sarcasm.

_"Anyway, I gotta get to the mess if I wanna eat something other than pureed space-monkey shit. Talk to you later… _ma'am._"_

A mischievous grin crept across DeMarza's olive face as he emphasized the last word. Shepard wouldn't tolerate insubordination from anyone else in the galaxy, but with Sergio, she wouldn't have it any other way. The rigors of the training exercises in the dense Amazonian jungles of the Interplanetary Combatives Academy and serving together in one of the largest, most decisive Alliance operations in history formed bonds that couldn't be broken by the barriers between officers and enlisted men any more than they could by being half a galaxy apart.

Shepard sighed as she switched the holo off. _You know, you should really quit sulking. They're _dead. _Nothing will bring them back_, she thought to herself. _And there's still a war going on. _Though she'd been within the relatively safe walls of Arcturus Station and OCS for most of the time since the massacre, she'd still heard about the cold, bloody fights against the batarians that had raged on since the Blitz. She was, after all, a Special Forces operative. The Alliance had reasoned that fighting fire with fire was the best strategy, which meant that Special Forces teams and Tactical Regiments had done most of the fighting against the batarian terrorist cells that had plagued human settlements with raids and massacres for the past two years.

_Yeah, man up and move on. Akuze is in the past. The Alliance needs you now._

* * *

><p><strong>04 January 2178 – J. Carson McCallum Alliance Training Facility – Officers' Barracks – 1900 GST<strong>

Staff Commander Patrick Kyle stood at attention as the man sitting at the desk before him perused the personnel datapad, squinting occasionally. "You served at Elysium, commander?"

"Yes, sir. I led the ground unit that deployed from the _Taipei._"

"Elysium ... did it change you?"

"Sir?"

"Elysium was a victory for the Alliance, but not without cost. The batarians massacred us on our own colony. Did it affect how you think about this war?"

"I… don't know, sir. They fight ruthlessly, but no more so than any of us, sir."

The man remained silent, continuing to peruse the personnel file. "And you've achieved level-seven proficiency in land navigation?"

"Yes, sir."

"Commander, your experience in ground combat and your skill set put you in a unique position to be an important asset to the Alliance. As of right now you've been reassigned to the 2nd Battalion, First Special Forces Group. This elite group of soldiers is trained to carry out operations in hostile territory via sub-orbital airborne deployment. They're the best the Alliance has to offer. I have one question for you, commander."

"Yes, sir?"

"Have you ever wanted to jump out of a frigate screaming above the surface of a planet overrun with enemies?"

* * *

><p><strong>12 March 2178 – <strong>_**SSV Puncak Jaya **_**– Bridge – 0900 GST**

A yellow light blinked on the console where a yeoman stared blankly at an array of screens. After a brief moment, the blinking registered and shook the soldier from his daze. "Sir? We've got an Alliance shuttle requesting permission to board. Mission security clearance level 10."

The starship's CO, Admiral Reynaldo Lopez, nodded. "Open port-side shuttle bay doors. Relay instructions."

Lopez, a veteran of the First Contact War, knew that the unannounced arrival and the security clearance level meant business. He swiftly about-faced and headed towards the elevator. He didn't know who would be arriving on that transport, but he knew he wanted to be there.

Bright white lights flooded the gray interior of the dreadnoughts shuttle bays. An array of massive doors lined a grated walkway, each door stenciled with a number. The admiral's footsteps clattered on the steel grating as he walked swiftly down the corridor. The sounds of pneumatic seals disengaging, mechanical parts moving, and metal hitting metal overpowered the admiral's steps as the door to shuttle bay 15 opened.

A man with a gaunt, scarred face, white hair with streaks of gray, and a goatee stepped out onto the walkway. Two silver stars were emblazoned on the shoulder-boards of his dress blues.

Lopez promptly saluted.

"Rear Admiral Hackett," the man's voice was low and rough as he returned the salute. "Walk with me, we have an assignment. Straight from the top."

"Yes, sir. Where are we going?"

"First, Earth. We're to pick up the Second and Third Battalions of the First Special Forces Group, along with a mission supply order. Then we will direct to the Arcturus Stream, where we'll rendezvous with the rest of Task Force Four-Four-Juliet. Our mission location will be revealed at that time."

Lopez raised an eyebrow. He'd certainly dealt with sensitive missions before, but nothing this secretive – at least not at this level. Starship captains were _usually _given at least some information. But he knew Hackett's reputation – he was a good soldier, and an even better leader. If Hackett wasn't worried, Lopez had no reason to be.

* * *

><p><strong>16 March 2178 – Systems Alliance Base 06A – Administrative Offices – 0900 GST<strong>

The heavy coastal rains pounded the concrete tarmacs and rattled loudly on the steel buildings as the Alliance personnel assigned to base 06A scrambled to prepare for the impending arrival of the _SSV Puncak Jaya. _Supplies needed to be organized and transported, crews had to be readied, and airspace had to be cleared to safely land a dreadnought.

The orders had come in only three hours prior, and now, nearly 1000 Alliance marines were preparing to board a starship to fight an unknown enemy in unknown territory. Fortunately, for the soldiers of the Sub-orbital Parachute Assisted Response, Threat Assessment, and Neutralization (SPARTAN) squads, this was the very thing they lived for. Adrenaline and adventure. Honor and glory. Packaged water and S-rations. A short lifespan and a resting place on a desolate world far from their home. "Take your pick," they would say.

Trucks carrying cases of alloyed water canisters, munitions, bottled oxygen, and medical supplies sped amidst the maze of buildings as orange lights lit up against the dull gray sky.

In one of the personnel buildings, the SPARTANs casually checked their personal combat gear – puncture-resistant Vaxton suits, composite armor plating, jump helmets, boots, suit comm systems, primary weapon, secondary weapon, main parachute, reserve chute, omni-tool and personal survival packs. In addition to their jump gear, each soldier carried an assortment of additional supplies dependent on his or her role within the squad.

As a platoon leader, 1st Lieutenant Alex Shepard was equipped with an advanced comm unit designed to track space-to-planet frequencies in addition to ground channels, along with an omni-tool chip linked directly to the platoon's Intel Chief. As a sniper, she carried an S-26 Equalizer long-range high-power rifle in lieu of the standard M-7 Lancer machine gun. Though bulkier and heavier, Shepard much favored her rifle for its ability to get the job done – quickly and quietly.

"Figures we'd get deployed just in time to miss summer," her fellow platoon leader, 2nd Lieutenant Emily Young, said matter-of-factly as she clipped the latches on her gear duffel. A front-lines shock trooper, Young had been recruited out of high school for her biotic talents, and she'd been climbing the ranks ever since. Now, at a mere age 21, she stood a member of what many considered the most elite combat unit in the Alliance.

"Check it out..." another voice trailed off as heads turned and bodies crowded towards the windows, and a starship the size of a football stadium hovered above the tarmac.

"Sweet ride," Young said.


	2. Into The Unknown

**Disclaimer:** All characters owned by Bioware.

* * *

><p><strong>01 April 2178 – <strong>_**SSV Puncak Jaya **_**– Mess Hall – 1800 GST**

"I wonder if this food was supposed to be an April Fool's joke," Shepard said, sitting down at a table her fellow platoon leaders.

"Pretty sure this bread is left over from the First Contact War," 2nd Lieutenant Murray said as he tore a chunk of tough, bland dough off the end of a breadstick.

"Man, I hear ya … not sure what this is," Shepard's face contorted as she stirred the bowl of soggy noodles and watery marinara sauce. "Makes me glad I ain't a star-chaser."

"Well I'll be damned," a familiar voice sounded from behind her. "_First Lieutenant_ Shepard."

The lieutenant turned in her seat, jumping up at the sight of her longtime friend. Sergio DeMarza was a tall, muscular, imposing marine, but his golden-brown eyes were kind.

"Holy hell! Sergio!" Shepard shouted as she hugged him.

Shepard turned to the two men sitting with her at the table. "Gentlemen, meet Gunnery Chief Sergio DeMarza – my N7 blood brother, and one of the few people in the galaxy who might be as good with a sniper rifle as I am," she grinned.

DeMarza laughed, playfully punching Shepard's shoulder. "And who are these fine lieutenants?"

"Second Lieutenant Murray, Second Lieutenant Khalil – platoon leaders of Bravo Company, Second Battalion, First Special Forces Group."

DeMarza smiled approvingly. His eyes surveyed the mess-hall grub that the three officers were eating. "You know," he said, picking up Shepard's fork and twirling it through her spaghetti. "I was born in Italy, and this is a bit of a disgrace to legitimate Italian cuisine."

Shepard laughed.

"I hear ya, bro," Murray grinned.

"Look, Shepard, tell you what, after this mission, you take some leave, come to Earth, visit my grandmother's house, and I'll introduce you to real, old-world Italian food. Not this crap."

"I'll hold you to it," Shepard grinned.

* * *

><p><strong>05 April 2178 – <strong>_**SSV Puncak Jaya **_**– Observation Deck A4 – 1600 GST**

Major Mike Higgins, commander of the 2nd Battalion, stood with his arms folded, staring out the window into the endless void. The mechanical whir of the door opening behind him broke the silence. He turned his head slightly.

"Commander Kyle, reporting as ordered, sir."

"Stand easy, soldier," Higgins turned to face the man. Kyle was tall and thin, with a gaunt face and a prominent adam's apple. His dress uniform was perfectly pressed. He certainly had the image of a man more on the administrative side of things, but in the two months of rigorous training and hundreds of practice jumps, he'd proved himself to be an able and intelligent soldier. _He'll be a general one day, no doubt about that._ "Your performance has been impressive," Higgins stated.

"Thank you, sir."

Higgins turned his gaze back towards the window. "This is going to be one hell of an operation, commander. We're going to need people in command who can make good choices. You might be one of the best navigators in the whole division. You don't just read maps and scans – you can read the terrain. Your expertise will be absolutely essential."

"Yes, sir."

Higgins paused for a moment, turning back to look at Kyle. "That's why I'm making you my second-in-command on this."

Kyle's heart skipped a beat. "Thank you, sir."

"You'll meet the company officers tonight at our first pre-mission briefing."

"Dismissed."

"Aye, aye, sir," Kyle snapped to attention, turned on his heels, and walked back into the corridor. He had mixed feelings about this, but he knew he was up to the task. If nothing else, he was determined. And he would not fail.

* * *

><p><strong>08 April 2178 – <strong>_**SSV Puncak Jaya **_**– Armory – 1600 GST**

The soldier methodically disassembled his assault rifle. He separated the heat capacitor from the barrel assembly, removed the internal computer, and finally, detached the magazine well from the receiver.

"Nervous?"

The voice made him jump. "Who the hell are you?" He turned to face his apparent stalker – a blonde-haired woman in Alliance fatigues.

"First Lieutenant Shepard," she replied, innocently. "I took a shuttle over here to visit an old friend. You're lieutenant Green, right?" She analyzed him. _Platoon commander? Platoon clown might be a better option. DeMarza wasn't kidding when he said this guy was a fucking joke._

"Yeah, and I know who you are," Green shot back. "Gunnery Chief DeMarza talked about you. He said you were at N-school together."

"That's correct," Shepard replied calmly. "So how you feeling about this mission?"

"I'm confident in my abilities, if that's what you're getting at," Green's eyes narrowed as he spoke. "In case the Gunnery Chief didn't tell you, I'm a combat engineering specialist, certified Y4, which happens to be one level higher than most people of my rank."

Shepard leaned back, folding her arms and tilting her head. She said nothing.

"Furthermore, it is the opinion of the CO of Foxtrot Company and of the Alliance that I am fit to perform the duties of platoon leader."

"It is the opinion of Lieutenant Shepard," she spoke with an obvious tone of sarcasm, "that you simply know who's ass to kiss and how to kiss it. I read the damned reports, Lieutenant. You aren't half the man Weber was. I just pray that you don't get good men killed with your stupidity."

"I don't think I like your tone, lieutenant. Now if there's nothing else, I'd like to get back to cleaning my weapon."

"No. There's nothing else," Shepard turned around. She stopped in the door way, turning her head back and glancing sideways at Green. "I want to make one thing clear to you, lieutenant. It may say 'Combat Engineer' on your files, but you aren't even an eighth of the soldier that I am, or that Chief DeMarza is. We're N7, and you're Y4. Remember that."

"I can handle myself, _lieutenant. _Are we done here?"

* * *

><p><strong>08 April 2178 – <strong>_**SSV Puncak Jaya **_**– Hangar Deck 9 –1800 GST**

Several of the company officers – including Lieutenant Commander Tom McConnell of Bravo Company – weren't entirely sure about Higgins' decision to give Commander Kyle – someone who wasn't _really _a SPARTAN and an unknown entity to a unit that had worked together for countless missions – a position of command, but they trusted their CO's judgment. Kyle was a good soldier, sure, and he did well in jump training, but above all else, he was a soldier who did things by the book. And Torfan would be _anything but _"by the book."

McConnell leaned against the wall of the corridor, perusing the datapad of intel. Moments later, Kyle and Higgins approached.

"Attention on deck!"

The sea of figures black combat fatigues snapped to attention as the two senior officers strode into the vast metal cavern.

"Marines!" Kyle shouted. "I am Staff Commander Patrick Kyle, your unit executive officer for this mission."

_What the hell do I say? _Kyle wondered. "It is an honor to lead such fine soldiers into battle. We face a formidable enemy, but SPARTANs are a force to be reckoned with. Operation Bluepoint will be unlike any other in Alliance history. Let's show the galaxy what we can do!"

The crowd erupted with cheers. Higgins nodded approvingly. _He may turn out to be a strong leader after all._

"Officers remain, the rest of you, go get something to eat," Kyle ordered.

Slowly, most of the crowd dispersed, finally leaving a group of about 25 officers. _This is much more manageable, _Kyle thought. He surveyed the group. He recognized a few of them, having met them briefly during training. "Okay, marines, specific details are still in the works, but we'll be deploying across the north zone. Two frigates per company, one company per drop-point. Once we're on the ground, the _Puncak Jaya_ will deploy some unmanned reconnaissance drones to provide us with additional information about the resistance we may face.

"Yeah, if they don't get shot down before they can upload it," someone muttered.

Kyle's eyes narrowed as he searched for the voice's source. His eyes fell on Shepard – the N7 insignia on her combat fatigues was unmistakable.

"First Lieutenant Shepard, leader of platoon three, Bravo Company, sir."

Kyle brought his hand to his temple, closing his eyes as his finger and thumb massaged his copper skin. A few traces of wrinkles were beginning to form on his forehead. He sighed heavily, pausing for a tense moment before he spoke. "I know who you are, lieutenant." _I'll have to figure out a way to deal with _her. He'd only met her briefly, but Shepard had a reputation among the division – and the Alliance – for taking risks, going in hard and fast, and leaving a trail of blood in her wake. "I respect your skill, but I warn you, there's a fine line between confidence and arrogance."

Shepard remained silent.

"I know this is a unique operation, and that SPARTANs are uniquely suited to it," Kyle continued. "Just try not to get everyone killed."

The eyes of every officer in the room were now focused on Shepard. She knew many of them – hell, she'd fought alongside some of them on Elysium. N7 was a point of respect, there was no doubt about that. _They know I'm a good soldier. But do they have confidence in me as a leader?_

* * *

><p><strong>19 April 2178 – <strong>_**SSV Puncak Jaya – **_**Lt. Young's Quarters – 2130 GST**

Shepard leaned casually against the metal bulkhead. The leader of platoon 2 kept her quarters meticulously organized. A few pictures were placed neatly above the desk. Shepard surveyed them.

"Boyfriend?" she asked, motioning to a picture of a handsome man with wavy black hair and blue eyes.

"Hah. No… that's my brother. He works in agriculture on Eden Prime."

"You from there?"

"No, both of us were born in Toronto, on Earth. He studied chemical engineering at Harvard, then got a job with a big agra company working to figure out how to grow plants native to Earth on other planets. All those sweet potatoes they grow on Eden Prime? That's his work. How about you? You got any family?"

"Not really," Shepard brushed the question off. "I was born in Wyoming. I thought a small town was a shitty place to grow up, so I stowed in the cargo hold of a transport shuttle bound for the west coast. Stepped out into the streets of San Diego … talk about a two-sided town. Everyone there is either Alliance or a drugged up surfer. Ended up running with a gang for a while, just to survive – until I got caught shaking down a liquor store. It wouldn't have been bad, but I had a military-grade pistol on me. I always had a thing for guns," Shepard laughed. "Anyway, the judge gave me a choice. Go to prison or join the Alliance. So here I am."

"Wow … not what I would have expected from an N7," Young laughed.

"Is that so?"

"I didn't mean anything by that… I just – I suppose I imagined you growing up in some quiet neighborhood or something. Or on a space station, perhaps."

"Hah, don't worry about it. It's not about being good or bad. It's about doing what you have to."

Young nodded, her expression becoming more serious. "How far would you go?"

Shepard contemplated the question. "That remains to be seen."

* * *

><p><strong>11 April 2178 – <strong>_**SSV Passchendaele **_**– Hangar Deck – 0600 GST**

Every day, the tension increased. If there was anyone who knew the unpleasant turns that any mission described as "strictly classified" could have, it was Staff Commander David Anderson.

He leaned against the railing, watching from the platform above as an Operations Chief from Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion inspected the deck's comm system. _The Jump Master. _Anderson fondly remembered his days at N-school – including the first time he jumped out of a frigate and parachuted into the dense Amazonian jungle. Part of him wished he was going down there. Part of him missed the action of being on the ground, the adrenaline, the feeling of physical accomplishment. Still, he knew that it was better he stay aboard the ship. He had a feeling things would get messy.

"Commander," a serviceman appeared beside him, saluting formally. "Captain Cole wants to see you on the bridge."

"On my way," Anderson spoke gruffly. He turned, looking at the jump master one last time. _I hope they know what they're in for._

"Sir," Anderson saluted as he entered the bridge.

"At ease."

"Commander Kyle would like to go over the deployment strategy."

Anderson turned to the tall, gangly man in perfectly pressed Alliance fatigues. "Captain, commander," Kyle nodded at Cole and Anderson. "You've been assigned to Bravo Company, deploying to drop zone sixteen," he paused, handing Anderson a datapad.

"Ahh, shit. Tell Higgins he better personally fix every hole their AA guns punch in my ship," Cole muttered.

"That's not all, sir," Kyle continued, fighting to retain his tone of professionalism as he presented what he thought was an even more dangerous idea. "Let me preface this by saying that I think it might be crazy, and it wasn't my idea, but it just might work."

Cole chuckled. "Go on."

"Major Higgins suggested we deploy in a Kestrel formation, north edge of the drop zone. Then we can flank the perimeter outposts more easily."

Cole remained silent, studying the glowing map on the datapad. "Hmm. Well we do have the best helmsmen in the fleet," he said. "If there's anyone that can do that, it's us."

"I'll inform the major immediately," Kyle replied, breathing an audible sigh of relief. Cole's positive response to such a ludicrous idea was … unexpected.

* * *

><p><strong>14 April 2178 – <strong>_**SSV Puncak Jaya – **_**Bridge – 1900 GST**

"On final approach to the mass relay, admiral," the helmsman's voice crackled over the comm system. "ETA 8 minutes."

"Copy that."

Hackett turned his head to look at the ship's captain. The captain stood in the "at ease" position, clad in his black fatigues, the steel blue spheres of his eyes gazing through the window into the void of space. The blue light in front of them was slowly growing larger.

Hackett keyed the communications console. "Hackett to all units, final approach to the Sigma-9 Relay, systems check!"

"_SSV Marathon, go for jump."_

"_SSV Leipzig, go for jump."_

"_SSV Passchendaele, go for jump."_

"_SSV Damascus, go for jump."_

"_SSV Austerlitz, go for jump."_

The methodical series of crackling voices continued. One by one, the commanders of the ships of Naval Task Force 44 checked in.

"It's go time."

The massive dreadnought banked hard to the left as they approached the mass relay that would shoot them out of Citadel Space, into the unknown. It loomed before them as a gigantic beast of metal alloys and brilliant blue light that overpowered the darkness of space.

Hackett breathed deeply. _Onward to glory._

"Ten… nine… eight…" the helmsman's voice counted down to the relay jump.

Hackett folded his arms across his chest. His heart was racing, but he maintained his stoic military demeanor.

"…six…five…"

One of the LADAR technicians sitting at a terminal to Hackett's left crossed himself as he stared at the glowing blue orb that rapidy filled the front window of the carrier's bridge.

"…three…two…one…"

The kinetic force of the mass-relay jump shook the bridge slightly for a moment before the ship's stabilizers kicked in. Hackett and the captain were thrown off-balance by the movement. Hackett fell backwards against the railing, and the captain grabbed the console in front of him to keep himself standing. While cruisers and frigates made mass relay jumps with ease, dreadnoughts, owing to their large size, often experienced slight internal instability due to the sheer amount of kinetic force needed to keep them stable through a jump.

As they cleared the mass relay, the brilliant pink and orange gasses of the Bug Nebula came into view as a glowing orange sphere in the vast blackness of space. Hackett quickly checked in with all the other ships. Everyone had made it through without issue.

He returned his gaze to the orange sphere, nearly 15 AU's ahead. _No turning back now._


	3. A Good Day To Die

**Disclaimer: **All characters owned by Bioware

* * *

><p><strong>17 May 2178 – <strong>_**SSV Puncak Jaya – **_**Mess Hall – 0800 GST**

The platoon leaders sat side by side along the long, white table. The mess hall was eerily quiet that morning. Shepard stared at her plate of eggs, sausage, and hash browns. _It's just another mission, _she tried to tell herself. _Stop trying to tell yourself that, Alex. You're in command of an entire platoon. And you're about to jump out of a frigate and parachute into a hornet's nest. Stop trying to convince yourself that you're not afraid of dying. It's human nature._

"Probably best to eat up," Murray tried to lighten the mood. "Spacer food sucks but it's still better than S-rations – which is what we'll be eating for the next couple of weeks."

"If we last that long," someone else muttered.

"You know what marines eat when they get to hell, right?" Shepard joked. "Dead batarians and whiskey."

Her jest drew a few nervous chuckles, but did little to change the overwhelming aura of anticipation. Breakfast ended, and the soldiers slowly walked towards the armory. They had several hours before the shuttles would take them to the frigates, but everyone's mind was focused on the mission.

Shepard opened her locker. Her N7-issue hardsuit hung loosely on the back wall, the dull black composite armored plating reflecting the dim blue lights of the armory. Methodically, she inspected her sniper rifle. Next, her sidearm.

She checked the magazine pouches. A master of tactical assault, she carried magazines of cryogenic, incendiary, and armor-piercing rounds, along with the sledgehammer rounds she typically kept loaded in her weapons.

She inspected her combat knife. Light and lethal, the six-inch carbon-steel blade slid into a sheath built into the shoulder-strap of her hardsuit.

Next was her explosive ordnance. She carried two high-explosive mines and two fusion grenades – the former for gaining entry into fortified buildings, the latter for combat.

Finally, her survival kit. A simple, black pouch containing a coiled metal wire, a bottle of iodine, ten packets of omni-gel, five medi-gel units, two rolls of gauze, a small assortment of surgical tools, a short-range comm beacon, three S-rations, and two flares.

Last, but certainly not least, she slid a small metal flask emblazoned with the Master Rifleman logo filled with none other than Kentucky Straight Bourbon.

"Good idea," Murray spoke, nodding at the flask.

"You didn't see anything," Shepard smirked.

"Neither did I," the voice of Bravo Company's commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Tom McConnell, startled her. "We're inserting on the one-line, so we might all be dead. Kyle would probably be pissed, but as far as I'm concerned, any N7 knows more than he does about being in combat."

"Wow, sir," Murray nodded approvingly. "Why aren't there more people like you leading at the regimental level?"

"Because marines like me die in the trenches alongside the privates and corporals before we get that high in the ranks, lieutenant. You can have power, or you can have glory, but not both."

"Something tells me half of us are going to die tonight anyway," Murray replied.

"Well it's a damn fine day to die," Young joined the conversation as she checked the action on her M-10 Firestorm shotgun.

"Good attitude, lieutenant, especially considering that biotic shock troopers are the first to go down," Murray joked.

"Aww, Colin, now where would you be without me?" she retorted.

"A couple thousand credits richer, considering the outcome of our last poker night."

"She cleaned me out too, Murray," Shepard chimed in. "And Khalil as well … making her the richest platoon leader in Bravo Company."

"Yeah, so if we make it through this, drinks are on me, eh?" Young heaved her hardsuit into the transport case.

Shepard chuckled. "Yeah they are. Besides," she continued, latching her gear case shut. "We need to show these colony kids how to drink."

"Let's head down to the shuttles," Murray said. "Valhalla's calling for us."

* * *

><p><strong>17 May 2178 – <strong>_**SSV Passchendaele **_**– Hangar Deck – 1800 GST**

Anderson stood on the catwalk, surveying the scene of 50 marines crowded into the hangar deck, nervously yet patiently awaiting the beginning of one of the most bold, unprecedented operations in Alliance history. SPARTANs. The most elite group of soldiers, biotics, and engineers in the Alliance. The minimum designation for entry into their ranks was N3. They congregated in small groups, for the most part. An operations chief leaned against a railing, tearing open a chocolate bar. A service chief sat on top of his gear case, recording a vid-mail. Another did pushups to ease the pre-mission adrenaline. A lieutenant leaned against the wall, staring at the floor, her arms folded across her chest. _Wait … is that? _"Shepard?"

The lieutenant looked up. She uncrossed her arms, revealing the N7 insignia on the right side of her combat fatigues.

"Come on up," Anderson motioned.

She obediently climbed the ladder to the catwalk, promptly snapping to attention and saluting upon reaching it. "How are you, sir?"

"I'm good," he said, studying her. When he'd presented her the N7 designation on Earth a year and a half ago, she was still recovering from her injuries sustained on Akuze. Now, her scars had faded, and she was walking perfectly. Her golden-blonde hair was shorter now, about chin-length, but more noticeably, her brilliant blue eyes had regained the fire of a determined soldier. "Congratulations on making first lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir."

"Let's head to the bridge."

"Yes, sir."

They headed into the elevator and rode up to the CIC in silence. The frigate's operations deck was brightly lit compared to the hangar deck. Crew members in fatigues sat in the consoles, focused on arrays of orange screens.

"Captain Cole," Anderson spoke as he approached the bridge. He and Shepard both snapped to attention and saluted the captain.

"Commander," Cole returned the salute.

"This is Lieutenant Shepard, N7," Anderson introduced her.

"Good to meet you, lieutenant," Cole said. "I gotta say, it makes me feel a little better, knowing that there's an N7 on this. We've got one of the most dangerous drop zones. It's gonna be a hell of a fight down there, make no mistake about it, lieutenant. Recon scans indicate you'll have a few turret nests to deal with between your landing point and the outposts. Alpha Company will be approaching from the east, but they'll have their own problems. Best strategy is going to be for you guys to take out the sniper towers. Last I checked, Charlie and Echo are going to flank the south end outpost, and Delta's going for the comm tower."

"Shepard single-handedly took down over thirty batarian mercenaries on Elysium. She survived the Akuze disaster. And she's N7. She doesn't know how to die."

* * *

><p><strong>18 May 2178 – <strong>_**SSV Passchendaele **_**– Hangar Deck – 0320 GST**

"Marines! We're T-minus ten minutes! Final check!" Major Kyle shouted, standing atop a supply crate. His hardsuit-clad form was silhouetted against the blue lights on the hangar's ceiling. He keyed his omni-tool, opening a comm-link between the other company commanders and frigates that would carry the marines of the First Special Forces Group to their destiny. "Comm check!" He looked down at the marines, now all clad in combat hardsuits, checking their gear. He knew many of them regarded him with apprehension – he didn't have the "jarhead" mentality that most of them did, but he was a brilliant Land-Nav officer. He was capable of making decisions with limited intel, and doing it quickly, though he typically chose to err on the side of caution. _That's what this mission needs. Someone who thinks. Someone who doesn't go in guns blazing._

Lieutenant Shepard stood in a corner, readying her sniper rifle. "It's just you and me today, baby," she whispered, kissing the scope. She looked back at the company of marines that stood, nervously checking their weapons and armor as they prepared to jump. "Morituri te salutant," she muttered under her breath. She glanced at Young, who stood beside her, holding her helmet under one arm. The platoon leaders exchanged approving nods.

"See you down there," Shepard said.

"Yep."

Shepard walked over to the starboard side of the hangar, where platoon 4 had congregated. Twenty-five marines stood like statues in jet-black heavy hardsuits. Twenty-five marines stood, ready to die. "Alright, soldiers, listen up," Shepard began, hoping to boost their morale as they parachuted into hell. "We got a rough morning ahead of us. We're getting dropped right in the middle of some turret nests. Our first priority is to take them out, then flank the AA installments and assist Alpha, Charlie, and Echo in securing the perimeter. Stay focused, stay out of the main gun lines, and think carefully before you move. Time to show those wormheads what we're made of!"

Kyle sneered as he overheard the last line of Shepard's pep-talk. His copper eyes narrowed as they turned to Shepard and her platoon, most of whom responded with cheers. _Wormheads. _It wasn't uncommon for soldiers in war to refer to their enemies by some sort of demeaning, derogatory term, but he still didn't entirely approve of its usage. _He _was above such juvenile behavior.

"T-minus four minutes!" He called, relaying the message from the bridge. "Platoon one, line up!"

Up on the bridge, Captain Cole stood with his arms folded, staring out of the window as the helmsman keyed the controls. "Dropping out of orbit in three…two…one…" A slight jolt rattled the bridge as the frigate rolled over, making an angled dive towards the moon's surface. "Engage eezo thrusters!" The ship pulled into a sharp loop, righting itself. "We're in."

"_Passchendaele _to two-six. Status check!" Cole barked.

The replies crackled over the comm as the other ships embarked on their insertion lines.

"Bridge to jump master, thirty seconds!" Cole shouted.

Down in the shuttle hangar, the jump master hit the console, opening the ramp. The frigate screamed above the planet's surface. He waved his arms, signaling amidst the roar of the starship's engines and the wind outside. He waited for the call. As it came, he slammed his hand on the console, switching on green lights on either side of the ramp's opening. On cue, the soldiers jumped out of the frigate, beginning their free-fall towards Torfan's desolate, gray surface.

Commander Anderson stood in his usual spot on the catwalk. He watched as the marines jumped. _Godspeed._

Back on the bridge, Cole clenched his teeth as he stared at the LADAR screens. The batarians had seen them the moment they began their insertion line, and had scrambled to power up their defenses. "Bravo company, get the hell out, they're getting ready for us!" He growled into the comm.

"_Platoon one is away. Two is on their way out the door, sir!"_

"Double time it!" Cole ordered.

Beads of sweat began to form on his brow as he looked out the window again. Amidst the darkness, bright orange streaks lit up the sky as light AA installments began to fire on the frigates. _Shit. Hurry up._

"_Two-six this is SSV Austerlitz! We are taking heavy fire! Be advised, heavy fire!"_

Cole's heart skipped a beat. This is what he'd been afraid of. "_Austerlitz, _what's your jump status?"

"_Most of—"_ Static obscured the transmission. _"—Platoon four's still—"_ Static. _"—ten more seconds."_

_Come on, Bravo, get the hell out… _Cole thought. "Jump status?"

"_Platoon four starting deployment as we speak!"_

Seven kilometers away, tracer rounds lit up the sky above the south end of the drop zone.

"Stay on it," the commanding officer of the _SSV Gallipoli _ordered as the explosions echoed in the darkness. "Jump status?"

"_Platoons one is away!"_

A jolt rattled the frigate as a flak explosion detonated on the port-side stabilizer. Reflexively, the helmsman pulled the giant ship hard to starboard, attempting to compensate for the blast. "Shit, we have to—"

"_Austerlitz to Gallipoli, what's your status?"_

"Took a hit but I think—" the reply was cut off as machine-gun fire cut through the frigate's hull.

"_Passchendaele to two-six. All jumpers are away, heading to—"_

Another flak explosion hit the _Gallipoli_, this time on the starboard-side stabilizer. "Shit, we gotta pull out, the jumpers are—" the captain's voice betrayed his stoicism as more machine-gun fire assailed the frigate. "_Austerlitz,_ what's your status?"

"_Insertion complete—" _Static. _"—taking fire, be advised—"_

Captain Cole watched in desperation from the bridge of the _Passchendaele _as the two frigates on the south line screamed through the night amidst flak and bullets. _Sit tight, guys. We're on the way._ "Bridge to firing room, status?"

"_No-go, sir, I can't get a target. We can't get close enough without dropping too low."_

"Keep trying."

"_Sir, I—"_

Two more explosions rattled the _Gallipoli's_ port-side stabilizer as the helmsman desperately tried to keep the ship in the sky. "Shit! Shit! We're not gonna make it! _Austerlitz,_ get the hell ou—" His transmission was cut off as another flak round exploded, this time towards the rear of – right below the frigate's mass effect core. As the power failed, the lights went dark, and the ship rolled over, tumbling as it hurtled downwards

Captain Cole sighed as he watched the doomed ship crash on Torfan's desolate gray surface. "_Austerlitz, _what's your status?"

"_We made it out. Entering distal orbit. The machine guns did some damage to our hull but it's nothing we can't fix."_

"Roger that."

"_Sir, the Gallipoli…"_

"I know. I saw. I'll radio Commander Kyle and tell him to look for survivors." _God help them._

* * *

><p><strong>18 May 2178 – Torfan – Drop Zone 12 – 0530 GST<strong>

Gunnery Chief DeMarza's jump helmet didn't seem to do much to dull the shrill whistle of air rushing past as he plummeted towards Torfan's surface. Finally, the green light in the corner of his helmet's heads-up-display flashed on, and he deployed his parachute. The sudden velocity change seemed to jerk him upward, but he was used to it. Now, he could turn his full attention to sizing up his landing zone and preparing to hit the surface.

In the distance, he could hear the _ratatatat _of automatic weapons fire. His current trajectory would put him close to one of the perimeter installments. Several other members of his platoon were already on the ground, preparing for the assault.

Gunfire – this time, much closer – echoed through the air as DeMarza prepared to jettison his parachute. He didn't need to think – the second his boots hit the dusty rocks, he charged. Hands clutching his rifle, he ducked and slid up behind a rock. He peered up over its rough edges, trying to get a grasp on the situation. The installment was heavily fortified, built into the side of a cliff, and flanked by two artillery towers. The cliffs extended as far as he could see to both sides. He looked around as the carnage ensued. The batarians were hitting them with high-caliber machine guns. _Probably mounted on the front of the installment._ He peered up once more from behind the rock. Bullets ricocheted off the surface as he quickly ducked back down behind it.

To his left, a group of three soldiers charged hopelessly forward. A deafening blast shattered the air as dirt and rocks were thrown in all directions from the spot where those soldiers had been a fraction of a second before. Instinctively, he crouched even lower, turning his head away from the blast. When he looked back, there was nothing but a shallow crater of scorched sand and a severed human arm. As he tried to stay calm, the voice of Chief Varis, his N-school assault instructor, echoed in his head. _Think before you move! _As his hearing slowly recovered from the explosion, he caught some chatter on the command channel.

"—_Lieutenant Green, take your—"_

_Where the hell is he? Fucking shithead is going to get us all killed._

He turned to the right to see several infantrymen, crouched desperately behind the same large boulder that he was using as protection. They were scared. Cautiously, he looked around the boulder's edge, spotting a small, crumbling concrete wall about ten meters ahead. It would be enough. Closing his eyes briefly, he turned back to the soldiers.

"Got a wall up ahead. We can get to it. On me in three, two, one!"

He kept his head low as she sprinted forward. All that mattered was getting to the wall. That concrete shield that would provide just enough protection while they planned their next move. They had to move forward, or they'd die. He breathed deeply as his body slammed against the concrete barricade that was his momentary savior from the chaos. The men were right behind him.

The unmistakable whistle of an artillery round shrieked through the air as the soldiers approached. The first one slid up beside him. Then the second. As the rest of them raced desperately forward, the artillery round slammed into the ground. The blast shook the air around them as the soldiers were blown apart. The smoke cleared to reveal one of them lying on the ground, screaming. Most of his right leg was missing – blood flowed freely from the stump that remained.

DeMarza lunged forward toward him, grabbing his arm and pulling him up to the shelter of the crumbling concrete wall.

"Uggh… oh God…" he choked as he stared up into DeMarza's eyes. His mouth was filled with blood.

"Stay with me, marine," one of the other soldiers desperately pleaded as he reached toward the man's helmeted head. Several pieces of shrapnel had embedded themselves in his torso. The jagged edges of what was unmistakably bone shot out from the bloody mess of muscle and tissue below the hard composite of his hardsuit where his leg had been severed.

"MEDIC!" DeMarza shouted. He turned back to the soldiers. "One of you, stay with him. The rest of you move up!"

The wounded marine stared at the sky. The green glow of the gas giant Iphigni far above was oddly peaceful. Two figures appeared above him. Their voices were blurred and faded.

"—come on, put more pressure on it—"

"He's gone."

The marine grinned briefly as his eyes turned once again towards the sky. Today was a good day to die.

* * *

><p><strong>18 May 2178 – Torfan – Drop Zone 16 – 0543 GST<strong>

Lieutenant Shepard ran forward towards the turret nest, ducking behind the smoldering, blackened remains of a truck. More explosions echoed across the battlefield. There seemed to be no break in the gunfire from above. They were getting slaughtered.

"_Flank them, but don't get too close!" _Kyle's voice flooded the comm channel.

"What do we do now, ma'am?" A group of soldiers knelt behind a rock a couple meters away.

"Wait for a break, see if you can't get up behind that hill, I think it's out of the line of fire!"

Shepard dashed through the storm of bullets raining down on them. She wasn't sure how, but she made it to the hill. Throwing herself flat on the ground so as to avoid being targetable, she assessed the situation. There was a crater from a mortar explosion a few meters to her left. It might give her a shot at the turret nest. "Gimme some cover fire!"

She leapt up and ran like mad towards the crater. Leaping over a burned, mangled body, she cleared the crater's rim and landed inside, slightly protected by its charred walls. Leaning forward and readying her sniper rifle, she focused on the only target she could – two batarians high up on the nest.

_Damnit, Alex, calm the fuck down! _She tried desperately to slow her heart rate. There was no way she would make the shot all hyped up on adrenaline. A few deep breaths later, she slid the barrel of her sniper rifle cautiously over the crater's rim. She gazed through the scope at the artillery tower.

"Don't screw this up," she whispered to herself as she aligned her crosshairs with the first, squeezing the trigger. The batarian fell dead, sending the other into a frenzied attempt to turn the artillery gun towards her. Again, she aligned the crosshairs. "Two for two, come on baby," she whispered as she fired again. The shot was good.

The lapse in gunfire was just what they needed to move up towards the turret nest. The soldiers of Platoon One raced forward, dodging the stray bullets from batarian submachine guns firing from behind the barricades above. Peering through her scope, Shepard analyzed the situation. The batarians were crouching behind metal barriers, trying desperately to hold their position. A grenade could—_Oh. Shit. _A batarian holding a grenade launcher appeared in the turret nest. "Take cover! Everyone take cover now!" She growled.

"Grenaaaaaade!" A voice yelled as Shepard ducked down into the crater. The explosion rattled the area, filling the air with a cloud of dust.

Now was her chance. Amidst the chaos, she charged forward, switching her sniper rifle out for her pistol as she ran. In a series of fluid, graceful movements, she vaulted over the concrete barricades and sprinted up the stairs to the nest. Her rifle on full-auto, she pelted the batarian grenadier with a barrage of bullets until her weapon's heat capacitor was almost maxed out. "And stay down!" She growled, kicking the corpse that now oozed orange blood onto the cold concrete ground. A couple meters away, Lieutenant Young stood over the turret gunner, her body surrounded with a biotic aura. The two exchanged nods.

"Kick some ass!"

"_Shepard! Young! Get down here, Kyle's been hit!" _McConnell ordered.


	4. At All Costs

**Disclaimer: **Bioware owns everything.

* * *

><p><strong>*-* 04 October 2178 – Torfan – Bluepoint – 0547 GST *-*<strong>

Lieutenant Josh Green panted heavily as he raced up to the metal barricade, ducking below it. He clutched his assault rifle with a death grip. _Oh shit. Oh shit. _He thought to himself. He didn't want to die. He knew he might, but he sure as hell didn't want to. His voice carried a tone of panic as he desperately radioed his platoon. "Where the hell is everyone?"

_"Left side,"_ his Operations Chief's voice crackled over the comm.

It was chaos, he didn't know what to do. His mind couldn't focus. He switched his comm back to the command channel.

_"—damnit, Tango Company's getting slaughtered by that artillery—"_

_"—no-go on route 9, too much resist—"_

_"—ervice Chief Evans is dead! Need a—"_

_"—coordinates eight-zero-three-niner—"_

_"—radio Kyle, get an ETA on the—"_

_"—where the hell are those reinforcements—"_

Everything was blurry. He couldn't focus. What the hell was going on? What the hell was he _doing _here?

_"I said, Lieutenant Green, DO YOU COPY?"_ It was the company commander's voice.

"Yes… yes ma'am," he whimpered.

_"Move your team up! We gotta break through this shit!"_

Gunnery Chief DeMarza squatted behind a metal barricade amidst the chaos. He had no idea where Green was, and frankly, he didn't care. They had a job to do, and they weren't going to do it by sitting around and waiting for orders from a CO who had experienced all of about five minutes of real combat in his life.

He carefully slid the barrel of this sniper rifle into a small notch in the rusted metal. Sharp clangs filled his ears as shots ricocheted off the iron. Wincing, he keyed his omni-tool, activating his helmet's noise-damping systems. He peered through the scope, trying to get a fix on the right artillery tower. _Damn. _They were behind the fortification's walls. His crosshairs traced the building's window.

_Well, it's better than nothing. _He popped the magazine out of his rifle, reaching into his pocket for one filled with Sledgehammer rounds. _Maybe. _He wasn't sure if it would penetrate the window, but he had to try. He felt the magazine click into place and switched the safety off. The crosshairs blinked red as he switched the precision setting on. It would fry the heat capacitors, but he needed it now.

The trigger clicked, sending a current to the rifle's electromagnetic capacitors. The twin magnetized rods that lined the barrel instantly charged up, accelerating the bullet at nearly 9000 meters per second. A brief yellow-orange light flashed as the bullet left the barrel, screaming through the air towards the bunker's window.

A brief _clink_ sounded as the bullet pierced the window. Small fractures radiated out from the hole across the surface of the fortified pane. The bullet found its target, tearing through the leathery flesh and thick bone of the batarian directly between his upper set of eyes. As the projectile continued its journey into the soft matter of the batarian's brain, it released a neurotoxin. The batarian convulsed briefly as his body reacted to the toxin for a moment before the physical damage to his brain ended his life. DeMarza smiled to himself as he watched through the scope.

* * *

><p><strong>*-* 04 October 2178 – Torfan – Drop Zone Tango, West End – 0608 GST *-*<strong>

Commander Kyle blinked as he regained consciousness, staring up at the dull gray sky. The sounds of gunfire and explosions filled his ears, but they seemed far off. He groaned slightly as he sat forward, screaming as pain seared through his abdomen. Looking down, he saw the gaping wound where shrapnel from the explosion had torn clean through his hardsuit. Blood oozed out over the malleable gray composite.

He keyed his omni-tool. _Fuck. _He was out of medi-gel; his suit's emergency protocol must have used it all when he'd lost consciousness. The last thing he remembered was ordering Lieutenant Young to move up the right side.

The voices over the comm channel were muted and faint.

"—_is a no-go, head left—"_

"—_four-one-eight, go up—"_

"—_Fuck! They've got heavy weapons—"_

"Sir, stay down, we have a medevac on the way!" A voice called from his left.

"—_take them out—"_

"—_Grady's KIA, we gotta rendezvous with Murray and Shep—"_

_Shit. _He hoped to god that Jackson was still alive. If Grady was dead, that left Lieutenant Shepard as the ranking officer in Bravo Company. If there was anyone he _didn't _want in command here, it was her. _She's a fucking cowboy_. Determined to do things her own way, with little thought to proper protocol.

"Wh-where's Jackson?" His voice stuttered a bit as he spoke. As much as he didn't want to get taken out of there, he knew he was in no condition to fight.

"Delta is moving in towards the south outpost to support Echo. Last transmission was five minutes ago, sir."

"Let him…" Kyle panted, wincing at the pain. "Let him know I'm…"

"Already done, sir!"

Far to the southeast, the commander of the Delta Company stood against a steep escarpment that provided him cover from the never-ending gunfire. He activated the image-enhancement system on his helmet, turning to his right. _Shit. _Some sniper was slowly picking off the soldiers from Echo Company as they advanced up the hill, still at least two kilometers out from the perimeter outpost.

Cautiously, he stepped up on a rock, peering over the top of the escarpment. He spotted the sniper, about 500 meters ahead, up on a tower. It would be a tough shot. Anywhere he could make it from would put him in the sniper's line of fire. It was a chance he would have to take. _If I don't, Echo's finished. _Breathing deeply, he selected his own sniper rifle. He pressed his right eye against the scope, searching frantically for the batarian. Going toe-to-toe with another sniper was about the dumbest thing he could be doing right now.

The crosshairs found the batarian's head as the four-eyed brute now turned his gun towards Jackson. _Fuck! _Jackson desperately squeezed the trigger, raising his head as the bullet left the barrel. The silhouette of the batarian sniper stood briefly on the roof of the comm building before falling over the edge. _Fuck yeah, _Jackson breathed deeply.

"Watch out, sir!" The voice came from his left.

A high-pitched whirring sound filled his ears, quickly becoming louder. He turned left to see the artillery round headed straight for him. Sand, and rock exploded into the air as the artillery slammed into the surface. When the smoke cleared, Jackson was nowhere to be found.

* * *

><p><strong>*-* 04 October 2178 – Torfan – Drop Zone Tango – 0611 GST *-*<strong>

Shepard turned to her left, motioning for her team to surround the rear door to the installment on either side. Her finger rested on the trigger of her assault rifle as her eyes met Murray's. She gave a quick nod, and Murray promptly kicked the door open. They stormed in, guns blazing. Shepard spotted a fusion canister on the far wall. A single shot from her assault rifle was all she needed. Hitting one of the batarians with the stock of her rifle and knocking him to the ground, she aligned her sights with the center of the canister. As she squeezed the trigger, the canister exploded in an intense blast of maroon light, its energy waves propagating across the dark room, knocking everyone to the floor.

Shepard and her men rose quickly again, holding the few remaining batarians at gunpoint. "No prisoners," she ordered, firing her weapon.

"_Shepard!" _Young shouted. _"We took down the south nest, but Grady's dead—" _Static. _"—you're in command now—" _Static. _"—awaiting orders!"_

_Shit. _She was the ranking officer now. She'd gotten used to being a platoon leader, but an entire company? It didn't matter, she could do it. She had to do it. Failure was _not _an option.

"Bravo Company!" Shepard yelled into the comm. "This is Lieutenant Shepard! Regroup at the north installment!"

Nearly two hundred men stood before her. Several had been killed in the initial chaos following the drop, but the majority of the casualties were easily treatable with a few applications of medi-gel. They had taken down three turret nests and six sniper towers, but that was only the beginning. An entire network of outposts, comm stations, and bunkers lied between them dotted the landscape of Tervak's nightmarish complex.

"Chief Campbell!" Shepard barked, summoning her Intelligence specialist, an N5-certified biotic. Campbell's abilities were surprisingly effective; he'd been one of the first Element Zero exposures – back before the Alliance realized its true potential. His ability to control and hone his biotic abilities was _the _reason he made it through N-school.

"Ma'am," Campbell nodded, handing Shepard a small silver datapad. "Signal traces from the _Gaugamela _indicate an AA bunker here," his finger tapped the screen of the datapad, zooming in on the topographic image. "It's about five-point-five k's north-northwest."

She studied the image for a moment. Taking down the AA guns was top-priority – it would clear the way so that interceptors and fighters could deploy, assisting the ground teams. _It's the only way, _she thought.

"Bravo Company!" She addressed the soldiers. "We got a bit of a walk ahead of us. Should be nice, plenty of views of … rocks, and sand, and more rocks, and more sand along the way. There's an AA installment that's making it a pain in the ass for our starships that need to land so we can roll out the tanks. Our priority is to take it out."

A chorus of cheers echoed as she rallied the soldiers. The fight ahead would be anything but easy, but she was prepared. As moved towards the front of the company, a radio transmission crackled over the comm, filling her mind with frustration.

"_Lieutenant Shepard! This is—" _Static. _"—Echo Company. The south inst—" _Static. _"—heavy resistance—" _Static. _"—no word on Overton. Reinfor—" _Static. _"—repeat, need reinforcements!"_

She was so damned close. She could push forward and take the AA bunker. That would surely seal the Alliance's victory. But now, Alliance soldiers were depending on her. _Where the hell is Overton? _She thought briefly. She knew what Kyle would say – he would waste time backtracking to the south. Delta Company was already on the way, but Kyle would err on the side of caution. _Screw him._ She didn't care. He was a by-the-book kiss-ass who would only serve to complicate things, so unless he gave her a direct order to support Echo Company, she had other plans.

"Shepard to Echo," she paused, sighing heavily. "That's a negative on the reinforcements. Can you hold them off?"

_"Negative! We're too—" _Static. _"—to contact the _Puncak Jaya_ for—" _Static. _"—casualties—"_

"Find a way," she ordered. She turned to Murray, motioning for him to start onward towards the batarian operations center, away from the chaos that still consumed the other Alliance teams on the network's perimeter. This was her chance – she had to take it.

"Move out!"

* * *

><p><strong>*-* 04 October 2178 – Torfan – Bluepoint – 0618 GST *-*<strong>

"Goddamnit we're getting slaughtered down here!" Operations Chief Kobayashi cursed under his breath. The batarians had mounted two more high-caliber machine guns behind metal barricades on the roof of the installment above.

Lieutenant Green squatted behind a rock, his right arm covering his head from the bullets and shrapnel that rained down on them. "Kobayashi!" He frantically keyed his comm into the command channel. "Where the hell are the reinforcements?"

_"Not coming."_

Inside his head, he screamed. He didn't want to die. "Goddamnit!" He stuttered, switching the comm back to his team's channel. "Shepard's left us for dead!"

A hundred meters away, Green's voice cracked over the comm. Kobayashi stood behind a massive boulder with two other men from the platoon. He slowly looked up, his dark eyes meeting DeMarza's.

"No," DeMarza shook his head. "She wouldn't. There _has _to be a good reason."

"That doesn't change the situation," Kobayashi observed.

DeMarza surveyed his surroundings. _There. _A series of ledges among the steep black cliffs to his right loomed against the gray sky. If he could make it up near the top, he could get a vantage point on the heavy guns on the installment's roof.

"That's a hell of a risk to take, Chief," Kobayashi followed DeMarza's gaze.

"Not like I have much of a choice," DeMarza laughed nervously as he replaced his sniper rifle on his back. He turned to leave, walking purposefully towards the ledges.

"DeMarza," Kobayashi called out. The sniper turned his head back, a dark glimmer flashing in his eyes. "God be with you."

DeMarza nodded silently at the operations chief, turning back toward his objective and quickening his pace. As he jogged towards the north side of the cliff, where he could ascend out of the line of enemy fire, he reflected. _Ten thousand marines. _They were either insanely brave or insanely stupid. They were three light years beyond the mass relay. If the batarians got word out fast enough, they'd overwhelm the fleet. And then, it wouldn't just be ten thousand dead marines, but half the First Fleet, not to mention Admiral Hackett. They had to take this base, at all costs.

He took a deep breath as he clambered up the steep rock. It was surprisingly solid; it didn't crumble away like the rotten black crags of the Eiger and the Jungfrau. _At least that's one less thing trying to kill me._ He could hear the explosions and automatic fire below him. Jamming his hand into a thin, vertical crack and pressing his fingers outward against the sides, he took a moment to catch his breath. The front line was visible down below. Dozens of soldiers lied dead or wounded, their mangled bodies strewn amidst the gray, cratered surface. It was a fucking massacre.

Reaching the top, he pulled himself onto the ledge and flattened his body against the chalky ground. Slowly, he inched forward. One elbow, then the other. He grinned to himself as he remembered the days in N-school when they did nothing but crawl around for hours in their heavy-grade hardsuits. It was tedious, it was exhausting, it was hell. And now, with life and death hanging in the balance, he was thankful for every second of it.

A few more meters. He loaded his last Sledgehammer magazine into his rifle. His right eye hovered a centimeter away from the scope. Ten batarians manned five portable high-caliber guns on the roof. _Be quick or be dead._ _Hah. Easier said than done._

The first one came into the crosshairs. BANG! The second. The third. The fourth. He was dropping them easily. Five. Six.

Half a kilometer away, the batarians manning one of the machine guns had realized what was happening. One of them slammed his hand on the manual adjustment button, grabbing the control stick with his other hand as he did so. _Come on, come on. Yeah, that's it. _The orange screen in front of him focused on the ledge where DeMarza sat.

The Italian soldier smiled as he pulled the trigger again. Seven. Eight.

The batarian controlling the artillery nodded at his comrade. The projectile roared out of the barrel at breakneck speed. DeMarza's crosshairs hovered around the ninth batarian on the roof. Arcing through the air, the artillery round slammed into the ledges.

Rock and dust rained down from the sky as Operations Chief Kobayashi looked upward at the cliffs where the artillery had blasted the sniper into oblivion. _Thanks, Sergio._

* * *

><p><strong>*-* 04 October 2178 – Torfan – Drop Zone Tango – 0629 GST *-*<strong>

The soldiers were vigilant as they marched over the rocky terrain, among the jagged towers and chalk-dusted boulders. They had little intel about what sort of fortifications the AA bunker would have, but that was irrelevant at this point. They would have to take what they got. _Kyle would be shitting himself if he had any idea what I'm about to do._ Shepard smirked beneath her helmet. As far as she was concerned, there were two types of officers in the Alliance: those who loved procedures and practically had the Alliance Regulations Codex memorized, and those who knew how to fight a war.

As they marched, Murray contemplated the situation. Shepard was a damned good soldier, she'd never commanded this many soldiers before. She was an N7 – used to working in small teams – and an Infiltration Rifleman – used to operations that required stealth and precision. He wondered if she was in over her head, leading an entire company to take this bunker. _Nah, _he shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the ominous feeling that seemed to enshroud his thoughts. _Shep can handle it. We got this._

"Hell of a call to make, Shepard," Young commented as she walked alongside her.

"The sooner we get that AA gun down, the better."

"You know Commander Kyle wouldn't have done this," 2nd Lieutenant Alvarez, leader of platoon 3, chimed in.

"Well Commander Kyle ain't goddamn here!" Shepard said defensively.

"We don't know what kind of resistance we're going to run into at the bunker – it's dangerous to proceed with one infantry company."

"We'll figure it out when we get there. Now fall in."

"Is that an _order_, ma'am?"

"Does it need to be?"

Corporal Mark Harris hummed to himself as he marched with the rest of them. When he'd turned 18, the "farm-boy-from-Wisconsin-turned-N3-medic" had enlisted with the hopes of helping people – of saving lives. He hadn't expected to go to war, at least, not on this scale. When he'd been selected for the 406th, he'd been excited to join a team of elite warriors. _And then there's all the shit that isn't in the vids, _he thought, remembering the missions of the past year. The despair, the agony, the brutality that they'd witnessed as they fought batarian terrorist cells on desolate worlds far removed from the eyes of the Citadel Council.

They left the winding maze of towers and canyons and emerged into a vast, open plain. Shepard held up her hand, ordering the soldiers to stop advancing. She raised her rifle, peering through the scope at the clearing. About 500 meters ahead, a low-lying black dome rose from the surface – it was the entrance to the underground AA bunker. The AA guns were mounted relatively close to it, but they'd pose no threat to the infantry as they advanced forward. Something startled her. _Movement. _She adjusted the range on her scope. _Shit. _The batarians had dug defensive trenches around the bunker's perimeter.

"They're entrenched out there," Shepard whispered to Murray. "Can't tell how many they've got though."

"If they've got more than a few, and we approach out in the open like this, we're gonna get slaughtered."

"If we're quick enough, we might be able to overwhelm them," Young offered.

Shepard contemplated the situation. She knew that many would die if they tried it, but they didn't really have any other option. Time was running out. Every second that they _didn't _bring the AA guns offline, more Alliance soldiers were getting killed out on the perimeter.

"Spread out, get behind those towers. The further we are apart, the less of us they'll be able to take down at once." The soldier took a deep breath, checking the magazine in her assault rifle and switching it to three-round-burst. Full-auto would just fry the heat capacitors on a charge like this. Her back pressed up against the angular, gray rocks as she waited for the soldiers to take their positions. One by one, the voices of the platoon leaders sounded through her earpiece, indicating they were ready.

"Alright," she paused, closing her eyes. _Now or never._ "GO!"

Gunfire pierced the silence as they charged forward. Shepard felt the momentary jolt as her kinetic barriers absorbed several rounds. She had to get to the bunker. Methodically timing her bursts of gunfire, she continued to sprint through the soft chalk of the flat open plain that extended as far as the eye could see. Her vision narrowed. The small mound that was the bunker silhouetted against the gray sky – that was her target. Screams echoed as soldiers fell around her.

300 meters to go. _Come on, Alex, do this!_

"Lieu—"

"Shepard!"

"AAARGH!"

"We need a medic!"

The gun recoiled slightly as she continued to fire blindly at the batarian guards. The trenches proved to be effective cover. _Hit a kinetic barrier enough times and you'll wear it down, but the ground can hold a lot of bullets. _Only the tops of their and the barrels of their guns were exposed above the top.

"—hit! I repeat, Santiago's been hit—"

_Fuck. _PFC Santiago. The N3 vanguard had only been with the 406th for five months. _He's just a kid, _Shepard thought as she ducked down, still storming forward. 100 meters to go.

She could see them now. _Cocky bastards. _She fired again, one of the rounds miraculously finding its target between one of the batarian soldiers' lower set of eyes.

50 meters. 40. Another burst of gunfire. 30. 20. She could hear the soldiers screaming. 10.

Her thumb flicked her assault rifle to full auto. She yelled in rage as she charged forward, launching off the triangular barricades and into the pit below. A few others had made it. She slowly turned, holding the trigger of her assault rifle as the torrent of bullets flew out of the barrel and into the batarians. At close proximity, nothing would save those wormheads from her fury.

Clouds of gray chalk billowed up in the ditch as the rest of Bravo Company charged over the triangular barricades. It was chaos, for about 60 seconds. And then, the gunfire gradually ceased.


	5. Bravo Company

**Disclaimer: **Bioware owns all.

**AN: **If you read this before, I changed up a lot of stuff in Ch. 1-4, so glance over those. To sum up - instead of deploying with the infantry, Shepard is part of a tactical paratrooper unit whose mission is to help secure the perimeter from behind, but she chooses to lead Bravo Company to take down an AA bunker instead of helping out the other paratrooper units. This chapter starts from Bravo Company's charge to the AA bunker.

* * *

><p><strong>*-* 04 October 2178 – Torfan – AA Bunker Entrance – 0636 GST *-*<strong>

"Casualty report!" Shepard shouted.

"Twenty-six dead, thirty-five wounded," Murray reported gravely.

"Okay, marines, take a breather, we're going in!"

"Shepard," Murray spoke softly. "It's Young."

Shepard looked at Murray with alarm. "What the hell happened? Where is she!"

Murray motioned, leading Shepard through the trench. Lieutenant Young sat propped up against the trench wall, clutching her abdomen. Her helmet was sitting on the ground beside her, its face-mask shattered. Her face was streaked with blood.

"Shepard… I…" Young coughed, blood flowing from her mouth.

"Sit tight, marine, you're gonna be okay," Shepard knelt next to her fellow platoon leader – her friend. "Harris! Get over here!"

"Shep, it's okay. I knew what I was doing. I did a biotic charge to keep some of them busy while you guys moved up."

"Goddamnit, Mel, you always were a crazy motherfucker."

Young laughed, coughing as more blood filled her mouth. "Shep," she gasped. "Win this for me. Win this for us all."

"Damnit, Young, don't go!" Shepard fought back tears, grasping Young's hand.

"Promise me you'll win."

"I promise." A single tear escaped Shepard's eye and her voice faltered as she spoke.

"Good luck, ma'am." The life left Lieutenant Young's brilliant green eyes as she sat amidst the dust and desolation of the trench.

Corporal Allison Baxter stared in horror at the bodies of humans and batarians alike that littered the trench ground. Missing limbs, burned by incendiary rounds, mutilated piles of gore and bone. When she'd been assigned to the 406th, she'd been excited for adventure. When she learned they would play a principal role in the invasion of Torfan, she'd been excited for a shot at glory. But now, instead of an epic battle, she was trapped in a nightmare. Glory wasn't pretty.

"We have a job to do," Shepard said, trying to fight her emotions. She checked the heat capacitor and internal computer on her assault rifle, and switched out the Sledgehammer magazine in favor of incendiary rounds. _Let these fuckers burn._ She moved towards the bunker's entrance console, examining the computerized locks. _A little HX-09 should do the trick_. Reaching into the ordnance compartment strapped to her left leg, she produced a small package of the high-grade explosive compound. HX-09 was a powerful explosive – it could blast through almost anything. Unfortunately, it was also extremely unstable, so only ordnance techs and Special Forces operatives N6 or higher were permitted to carry it in the field. _N7 definitely has its perks, _she thought, echoing the sentiments of Chief DeMarza.

"Fire in the hole!" She shouted, ducking away from the blast. The ground shook as the explosive detonated, ripping the bunker door apart.

Two batarians emerged into the cloud of smoke and dust, only to be taken down by two quick bursts from Shepard's assault rifle. As she approached the door, she noticed one of them was still alive, writhing on the chalky ground. Without a second thought, she fired again, and the batarian stopped moving.

The bunker was pitch-black as the soldiers cautiously proceeded inside. "Batarians can see short-wavelength infrared radiation," Shepard remarked. She keyed her omni-tool, activating the thermal imaging setting on her helmet's HUD. The interior of the bunker suddenly became a vivid maze of purple and red shapes. Glowing orange lines lined the corners of the ceiling all around. "It's what they're using for light."

"Smart," Murray said. "They've certainly got us at a disadvantage."

"We should look for a power console – then we can at least even the playing field."

Swiftly and silently, they cleared the first room of the bunker. It was filled with equipment lockers and supply crates, but provided little of use. _We need a map, _Shepard thought. _There could be a maze of tunnels in here._ There were two exits from the entrance room. "Comm check," Shepard whispered. "Murray, Alvarez, go left. Everyone else with me, we're going right. Maintain radio contact as needed."

The door led into a long, dark hallway. The door at the end was locked; Shepard knew she could hack the encryption, but there batarians would undoubtedly be waiting on the other side – and, if they were smart, monitoring the door terminal. The time it would take her to override the lock would give the batarians a few seconds to prepare – a few seconds that could prove vital in the inevitable fight that awaited them once they breached the door. "We do this the old-fashioned way," she motioned to a soldier wielding a shotgun. "Get the lock, go in, and shoot anything with more than two eyes."

The soldier nodded, taking position against the door. Two other soldiers waited on either side of him, ready to provide suppressing fire. The soldier positioned the barrel of his shotgun against the door, braced himself for the recoil, and fired three quick rounds. The shots were deafening in the enclosed space. Feeling the door beginning to give way, the soldier stepped back and kicked it in. Not a second passed before a batarian clad in bulky dark blue armor appeared in the doorway.

"Human." His voice was deep and guttural as he reached forward, grasping the shotgunner's shoulder. In a swift movement, he unsheathed from his armor a double-bladed knife and drove it directly into the shotgunner's face. Ducking backwards to avoid the assault rifle fire, he drew a pistol and fired twice at each of them. Another soldier sprinted up to the batarian, wildly firing his assault rifle on full-auto. The batarian ducked efficiently out of the way, returning to the doorway as the soldier approached. He grabbed the soldier's rifle and tossed it carelessly aside, and then punched him, forcefully and precisely, knocking him to the ground. Before the soldier could move to get up, the batarian fired two more lethal rounds from his high-caliber pistol. A pool of blood began to form below his body as the rest stared in horror.

Private John Campbell's body glowed blue with biotic fury as he prepared for what would most certainly be a suicidal move, but one that might be enough to give the others a chance. He charged forward at the batarian. The energy from the biotically-augmented impact startled the batarian just enough to give Campbell the edge he needed. Clutching his semi-automatic M-23A Katana, he fired repeatedly until the weapon's heat capacitor was maxed. The batarian fell to the ground as the incendiary shot particles embedded themselves in his armor and flesh.

Three other batarians in the room were scrambling to ready their weapons, but the heat capacitor on Campbell's shotgun had already recharged. He fired quickly and precisely, the energy of the blasts throwing them against the terminal console. The last remaining batarian, who had been lurking in the corner, lunged at Campbell, putting the human biotic in a strong chokehold. As Campbell struggled against the batarian's powerful grasp, two precise rounds from Corporal Baxter's pistol took him down. The two marines exchanged nods as the rest of platoons 2 and 4 proceeded into the room.

"_Murray to Shepard, over."_

"Shepard to Murray. What's your status?"

"_Nothing but an armory, supply room, and some temp quarters this way. Dead ends after that."_

"Copy that, lieutenant. Backtrack to the entrance and rendezvous with us. Have a fireteam stay at the entrance and watch our backs."

"_Aye, aye, ma'am." _Murray paused. _"Ma'am, there were a few batarians in the armory when we busted in. We took them down, but we lost one of our guys."_

Shepard stared at the ground. They had a hell of a fight ahead of them. Human soldiers were some of the best marksmen in the galaxy, ranking alongside the turians, but such talents provided no advantage in close combat situations. _More are going to die before this is over. You _know_ that. But if you don't get the job done, then everyone else who died to get you here will have died for nothing._

"Ten-four, lieutenant. We still have a job to do."

* * *

><p><strong>*-* 04 October 2178 – Torfan – Drop Zone Tango, South End – 0640 GST *-*<strong>

The white light of the search team's flashlights was blinding as the remnants of Echo Company's platoon 3 sawed their way into the wreckage of the _SSV Gallipoli._ "Overton? You there?"

"Over here!" The lieutenant could feel himself fading, he needed to get out. "You still with me, son?"

"Yessir." The crewman's response was weak. Both men were nearly dead.

"What's the situation out there, Chief?" Overton asked gravely.

"Lieutenant Bishop was DOA, sir. Machine gun got him as he was riding in. Same with a lot of us, sir. Platoons one and two moved forward on the south installment, but the resistance was pretty heavy. We radioed for assistance from Bravo, but they couldn't do anything. Delta's busy with the comm tower, but they said they'd head back our way once they take it down."

"Did anyone from platoon four make it out?"

"I don't know, sir. I didn't run into any of them," the chief paused, looking down. "There's quite a few bodies in the hangar, sir. A couple guys are still alive, barely. We did what we could for them, but none of us are medics, sir. Mostly just gave 'em medi-gel and painkillers."

"How many of you are there?"

"Eight of us, sir. We got scattered all over that wasteland, didn't land anywhere near the drop zone. Pretty much just been trying to stay alive, sir."

The cackling of radio static broke the silence. _"—do you—" _Static.

Overton sighed, realizing the crash must have damaged his helmet's comm system. He quickly motioned for the chief to give him his helmet. "This is Lieutenant Overton. Give me a sitrep."

"_Sir? My god, you're still alive. This is lieu—" _Static. _"—we are pinned down—" _Static. _"—got three towers on the perim—" _Static. _"—heavy casualties. We can't get clo—"_

"Ten-four. I'll radio Commander Kyle. See if you can hold your position."

"_Aye, aye, sir."_

"Chief, I thought Bravo Company was going for the sniper towers? Shouldn't they have taken care of those by now?"

"I don't know sir. Grady's KIA. Last comm we got from them was from Lieutenant Shepard. If anyone can take out snipers, it's her. I don't know what's going on. Platoon one radioed for reinforcements but she said they couldn't send 'em. Didn't say why."

Overton sighed. _This whole mission has gone to hell._

* * *

><p><strong>*-* 04 October 2178 – Torfan – AA Bunker – 0657 GST *-*<strong>

Shepard quietly peered forward into the corridor ahead of them. A lone batarian guard stood at the other side, facing away from them. She crouched, silently moving forward, her body pressed against the railing. As she approached the batarian, she drew her combat knife from its sheath on her shoulder. Batarians had additional tendons in their necks, making quick, unarmed kills impossible – for humans, at least. Fortunately, she'd learned something about batarian physiology throughout her numerous battles against them. Two thick veins on the front of their face served as the primary link between their cardiovascular and neurological systems – severing one would incapacitate them; severing both would cause them to bleed out in a matter of seconds. The batarian was still turned away from her as she stood up behind him. Moving quickly, she wrapped her left arm around the batarian's neck and sliced through the veins with her knife. Instantly, the batarian's form became limp.

The situation was grim. They were close to the control room, but they'd taken heavy losses. Upon reaching another diverging set of corridors, Shepard had again split up the group. Lieutenant Alvarez and platoon 3 had moved to secure one of the bunker's comm hubs, and he'd almost succeeded – until the batarians decided to cut their losses, fall back, and flood the room with toxic gas. Both sides were fighting dirty – desperately. They didn't have much farther to go, but their numbers were half of what they had been when they approached the bunker.

_Half a company, dead for an AA gun_, Murray thought. He was beginning to doubt Shepard's leadership, but he knew the importance of the mission.

They continued into the next room. Every batarian in the bunker knew they were here by now, and they were doing everything they could to halt their advance. As the fireteam of Alliance soldiers moved in to secure the area, a batarian appeared in the doorway. A crude assemblage of explosive ordnance was strapped to his chest. "Humans. You won't make it out of here alive." He lifted his arm, holding the device trigger.

"Oh, shit, get—"

The explosion sent flames and shrapnel racing through the room.

"Close the fucking door!" Murray ordered.

As the explosions ceased, Shepard and Murray exchanged looks. _This better end soon. _"Check your gear, let's go."

"Why?" Private Campbell shouted, angrily. "So more of us can die for this fucking AA gun?"

"The lieutenant gave you an order, private," Gunnery Chief Adam Gallagher, the senior NCO in Bravo Company, glared at Campbell.

"Have you been paying attention, Chief? We're down over a hundred guys. I'm not dying over—"

"You're out of line—"

"Yeah, well the Alliance better be—"

"Stand down!"

"—and you know that—asd"

"Stand _the fuck _down!" Gallagher drew his pistol, pointing it directly at Campbell.

"Both of you, cut it out!" Shepard yelled. Her voice was surprisingly overpowering. "We still have work to do—"

"Yeah, that's what you said last time, and then the wormheads gassed sixty of our guys. Then they suicide-bombed us—"

"We have to take this gun down, no matter the cost."

"I'm not dying for this," Campbell defied.

"Should be motivation enough to stay alive then," Gallagher sneered.

***-* 04 October 2178 – **_**SSV Puncak Jaya – **_**Bridge – 0719 GST *-***

"Sir?" The comm specialist's face was puzzled as he stared at his terminal screens. "I'm reading that the AA guns are offline. Could be a glitch…"

Hackett frowned. _There's no way they could have gotten that far in already. Unless… _"I don't want to send a bombardier in unless we know that gun is disabled. Give it a few seconds."

Static flooded the comm channel as Hackett pondered this new development. _"—to _Puncak Jaya. _I repeat, we've disabled the AA gun at coordinates zero-six—"_

"Who the hell is that?" Lowe demanded.

Tension swept over the room as they waited in anticipation of another message.

"—_epeat, this is Lieutenant Shepard, Bravo Company has disabled the AA gun at coordinates zero-six-niner-point-seven-one—"_

"That's the one, sir," the comm specialist observed.

"What now?"

"Echo Company's getting obliterated on the south end. Have them fall back, send in the cavalry…" Hackett suggested.

Lowe nodded.

Hackett turned to the comm channel. "Hackett to _Passchendaele. _The AA guns are down – go in and hit the batarian outpost on the south end of the perimeter."

"_Sir?"_

"You heard me. Our troops are getting decimated, make it quick."

On the bridge of the _SSV Passchendaele, _Captain Cole nodded to his helmsman. Once again, the frigate pulled into a steep dive towards Torfan's surface. "Cole to four-one, I want those javelins ready to launch five minutes ago!"

"_Aye, aye, sir!"_

The helmsman keyed the controls, leveling the small, agile frigate and setting the trajectory. In the weapons room, Serviceman Angela Keyes studied the holographic targeting projection. She didn't blink as she moved the joystick, fixing the torpedo guidance system location on the fortified structure in the distance. "Target locked!"

"Firing!"

The ordnance doors on the underside of the frigate's hull opened and mechanical arms holding sleek black M-223A Javelin missiles extended. The missiles' single-stage plasma engines powered up as the mechanical arms released, sending them screaming towards the target. The frigate pulled into a climb as the missiles arced downward, finding the outpost. The roar of the explosion rattled the ground as the batarian perimeter burst into smoke and flames. _  
><em>


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